


On a Mountain Top (New Year's Eve Woes)

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, M/M, Mountains, New Year's Eve, Romance, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 17:10:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5594200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strangers Merlin and Arthur get stuck on a ski-lift. On New Year's Eve...</p>
            </blockquote>





	On a Mountain Top (New Year's Eve Woes)

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks go to Brunettepet for the prompt!

Merlin is quite relieved when he finds the ski lift is still working. He's aware he wasted too much time on the same slope, taking in the beauty of the peaks, watching the eagles soar high above the crags, skiing from pass to pass and covering routes that sent him deep into the heart of the mountain. It's what everybody should allow themselves to do once in a while, appreciate nature in all its beauty, watch it with all the reverence that is its due. Alone, you and the peaks, with nothing to distract you or detract from their awe-inspiring grandeur. It's because of this, how defensible the feeling is, that he cuts himself some slack. Gwen and the others, on the other hand, aren't going to, not when Merlin threatens to be late for the New Year's Party they're throwing down at the chalet Gwen just bought. They're actually going to read him the riot act. So as to avoid that, Merlin starts walking faster, making ample hands signs to the ski lift attendant to indicate that he's there and he's due for a jaunt valley-wards.

The bloke shouts something in German back at him and makes expansive gestures. The German Merlin might not have got, but the hand flourishes are unmistakable. Either Merlin hurries or he'll miss the last ride down. Breath coming quick for how much he's speeding, Merlin unhitches his skis, which only allow him to walk with the gait of a penguin anyway, and approximates as much of a run as he can in the deep snow.

It's not easy. He's mostly lifting snow powder, his soles sticking to coats of it, and he gets winded, but also decidedly closer to his goal. He's so near he can bona fide hear what the attendant's telling the man he just helped onto one of the chairs. “I'm sorry, sir, but I can't refuse him service.”

“I specifically asked for a chair of my own.” The chair's occupant seems to be fiddling with the blanket he's been given.

“This is the last one down, sir,” the attendant says. “I can't let leave that man alone on the mountain so late at night. It's our very last run.”

“How are you coming down yourself then?”

“I'm taking my Jeep.” The attendant sounds as miffed as Merlin's starting to get. “And I'm not insured for passengers. We're letting the gentleman up.”

“If you must,” the passenger says, throwing his hands up in the air. “But the management will hear of this.”

Merlin makes it to the chair. He spares a glare for its other occupant, thanks the attendant for his help, throws in his skis, and straps himself down.

“Ready to go!” The attendant jumps off his perch and disappears into the control cabin.

Merlin makes himself comfortable in his seat. There's not much space so he ends up brushing against the other occupant. The man grumps sottovoce, and Merlin is half tempted to elbow him in the ribs in sweet retaliation for his refusal to have Merlin use the chair, when the lift starts.

As they start their descent, the ground looks more and more distant, the slope extending eastwards and westwards as far as the horizon line. As the valley spreads out beneath them, the peaks stand out in the moonlight and beds of rock shine white in the snow. The air is crisp, thin, and punctures the lungs with the sharpness of a knife. Merlin doesn't mind much because he knows he'll soon get to the bottom of the mountain and to Gwen's chalet. But he does wish it were a bit warmer. He's already dreaming of fireside toasts and chalet warmth when a creaking sound drowns out the whistle of the wind and they grind to a halt.

“What the hell!” says his fellow passenger. “We've stopped, why have we stopped!”

“Well, duh,” Merlin says less amicably than he might have if his fellow passenger hadn't remonstrated against him joining him on the chair. “I suppose there's been some kind of glitch.”

“Yes, I can see that.” The man frowns at him. “The point this thing is supposed to work.”

Merlin wants to argue, but can see that it would be futile. The bloke is just that whiney. “Why don't you phone emergency services?”

The man's forehead puckers deeply. “Why don't you?”

“Because I have no phone.”

“What!” The man barks a laugh. “You mean to say that you own no phone. In this day and age!”

“Yes!” Merlin will defend his choice to the death. “We've lost touch with nature too much. I don't want to end up a smartphone drone.”

“You can see how that's unwise now, I hope,” the man says, leaning back to free his shiny iPhone from his pocket. “Thankfully, I'm not such a Luddite and I'll save us both.”

Merlin rolls his eyes and shrugs. Since there's not much space on the chair, he hits his companion right in the shoulder. This causes the man to lose hold of his phone. For a few precious seconds it looks as though he might retrieve it, but then it slips out of his hands and falls down into the darkness.

“There, you've done it.” The man barks that. “How are we supposed to get out of this bind now?”

Merlin, unfortunately, has no idea. “I wager we should just wait for rescue services.”

“You do realise it's New Year's Eve, don't you?” the man says. “You do understand that nobody's going to be working?”

“Not even rescue services?”

The man widens his eyes at him. “Oh, they'll come back for us. Well, after midnight. Long after midnight.”

“Oh.” Merlin's shoulders slump. “I'd been looking forward to spending time with my friends.”

“Guess what,” the man says with a powerful, chest-shaking huff. “Me too.”

They both sink into silence. After all, what's left to say that won't start a row? And in the position they're in, they'd better not. Enforced close proximity and arguments don't make for a good combo. Merlin breaks it only when the cold air starts stiffening his joint. “So we're stuck, aren't we?”

The man turns his head aside and doesn't speak. 

Merlin really has to take his mind off the temperatures playing havoc on his joints. “I'm Merlin, by the way.”

“Arthur,” Arthur says without turning round Merlin's way.

“So, what are you doing up on the mountain on New Year's Eve, Arthur?”

The man cocks his head at him this time. “I'm a sky champion. Arthur Pendragon.”

That name doesn't ring any bells for Merlin, though he bets Arthur thinks it should. “Oh that's why you didn't want any company on this lift. Too much of a VIP for that.”

“Nonsense.” Arthur purses his lips. “I wanted no one with me because I'm here on a reconnaissance mission.”

“Beg your pardon?” Because that's sounds truly preposterous to Merlin, like something a general would say. "A what?"

“I was here to study the slope for the Sunday's slalom.” Arthur clears his throat. “As it happens, I prefer solitude so I can better go over the details I've just taken in.”

“Oh.” That actually makes sense to Merlin. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh.” Arthur's tone becomes milder when he asks, “So what did you come up here for? His lips curl upwards. "On this night of all nights?”

“I'm an ornithologist,” Merlin says. “I'm writing a book. I just wanted to, I don't know, get in touch with nature one last time before I sent my draft to my editor.”

“That actually explains it.”

With no more left to say, the fall silent once more. Merlin whistles a tune, scratches at his calf with his boot, rubs warmth into his legs and hands. 

“You can have mine, you know,” Arthur says, lifting a corner of his blanket. “If you're freezing.”

“Thank you, but--” Merlin sends Arthur's a covetous glance. “I couldn't leave you without any cover.”

“I'm a pro skier.” Arthur widens his stance so his shoulders look inordinately broad. “I can stand the cold.”

“Still.” Merlin surreptitiously runs his hands up and down his thigh to spark warmth into it. “I couldn't.”

Arthur tuts and spreads the blanket over both of their knees. “There.”

“Thank you,” Merlin says, flashing Arthur a smile.

Arthur looks down and away. He twiddles his thumbs and stretches, arms high up above his head. “So is there a chance I've read any of your books?”

“Not unless you're really into birds.”

“Give us a title then.”

“The Spotted Eagle Owl and Its Natural Environment,” Merlin says. Cheeks dimpling, he adds, “Birds of a Feather. Alpine Birds and their Mating Habits.”

“No, I'm afraid, I, well, haven't.” Arthur flails a hand about. “Read any of those.”

“Don't worry,” Merlin tells him. “You wouldn't be the first one.”

“Haven't your friends read your publications?” Arthur tilts his head to one side, inquisitive.

“Actually, no, they say my stuff's boring.”

“I'd read it.” Arthur says that boldly, his tone pitched in defiance, his body looking bigger, seemingly taking on more bulk, though it's only his position that's enhancing the solidity of his physique.

“That eager to learn about birds?”

“No.” Arthur shakes his head. “But I'd do that for a friend.”

There's such longing in his tone Merlin is made to think he's speaking out of some kind of hankering of the soul. “You're missing your friends already, aren't you? Stuck here on this mountain with me.”

Arthur looks to the horizon, the whites of glaciers shining bright in the night. “Actually, when I said that I'd friends to see, I lied.”

“Oh.” Now that's unforeseen, Merlin believes. “Is it a girlfriend who's waiting for you back in the village then?”

“What? No, I'm gay.” Arthur says it with a shrug of the shoulders. “No, what I meant was, those guys waiting for me at the Goldener Adler, they're not really my friends, you know. They're other pro skiers, my rivals, if you will.”

“Couldn't you have spent New Year's Eve with your real friends instead of... you know?”

“I don't have many.” Arthur toys with his heavy-duty gloves. “I'm always abroad for championships, competitions. That doesn't leave room for anything but skiing. So the only people I know are...”

“Other skiers.” Given the premise, Merlin finds guessing what Arthur means to say next quite easy. “Now I see.”

“Well, what will you have.” Arthur sighs. “That's what you must put up with if you want to aim for the top.”

“You know...” A sense of solidarity blooms deep in Merlin. “That's not fair. If we were friends, I wouldn't mind about you being a skier, not always being there.”

“Then you're more understanding than most people.” Arthur gazes downwards, toying with the straps of his puffy jacket his time. “Though in my acquaintance's defence, it's not easy to keep friendships going when the other party is just never there.”

“Still.” Merlin quirks his lips sideways. “I'd stay pals.”

Arthur slowly turns towards him, piercing Merlin with his gaze. “Maybe we can be.” His eyes twinkle. “Friends.”

Merlin accepts the hand Arthur extends to him and shakes it. “Friends.”

In the distance fireworks go off, painting the night sky blue and red and gold.

“Beautiful,” Merlin says.

Arthur takes a look into the distance. “And there goes midnight. And the old year.”

Taken by a spur of the moment whim, one that makes him feel fuzzy about the insides and a little electrically charged, Merlin grabs Arthur's face in his own gloved hands and smacks a kiss on his lips.

At first Arthur stiffens, his eyes round, but then his body goes soft against Merlin's and his lips bow into a smile. His mouth opens just a little and Merlin's does the same. They breathe, warm puffs of air misting about them, and then they're trading soft brushes of the tongue, nips and fleshy rubs. With Arthur's mouth moving on top of his, Merlin can't feel the cold anymore but can definitely sense his heart missing a beat.

A big thundering of fireworks fills in for Merlin's heart beat, fiery flowers blooming in the sky, until Merlin's pulse kicks back into gear, albeit unsteadily, and star dust falls from the sky.

“Happy New Year, Arthur,” Merlin says, more breathless than he ought to be. 

Eyes slanting with glee and shining with a brand new softness, Arthur touches his own lips and smiles. “Happy New Year, Merlin.”


End file.
